


Cut Out The Disease

by wallofglass



Category: Holby City
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Weird medical stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 00:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallofglass/pseuds/wallofglass
Summary: John contemplates a very basic rule of medicine whilst in bed with Henrik. Henrik drowns his sorrows in John. (note: the content warnings are because John makes a poor attempt at convincing Henrik that neither of them want it, what happens is fully consensual)





	Cut Out The Disease

**Author's Note:**

> Like I say in the summary - all the sex is consensual, but I figured the content warning needed to be there because of the first paragraph. Also there’s a lot of medical monologuing and some suicide planning. It’s just all dark and awful to be honest but I needed to get it out of my system.  
> Takes place I guess a couple of months after Rox’s death, in Henrik’s house.

John was muttering under his breath, his hands clamped to Henrik’s arms, keeping him at a distance but not letting him move away.

‘You don’t want me you don’t—don’t want me—‘

‘John,’ Henrik hissed through his teeth, trying to push John’s hands away, angle him down, ‘of course I want you.’

John tried to push him away again and Henrik took advantage of his movement to pull him into a tight embrace.

‘I want you John. I want this. I want to be with you. Please have no doubts about that.’  
John held himself still, breathing heavily. Henrik pulled back. John could see confusion and lust in his eyes. Always lust, always physical desire. It had made John preen for him in the past but now it made him bitter. He felt a stab of old envy, his brain skirting close to the memory of Roxanna, vibrantly alive, a siren call for Henrik’s attention. For a second her face flickered over Henrik’s and the guilt and heartache crashed over him again, buckling his knees and sending him down to the floor. Henrik grabbed his hair, twisting his fingers into the nape of John’s neck, pushing his head down. His interpretation of John’s sudden collapse was all wrong, but John didn’t blame him. How many times had he tried to seduce Henrik with no results. It was no surprise that Henrik assumed he was eager. To deny him this, after all John had taken from him, was a cruelty too far. Or a sacrifice too far for John, who was weaker than ever these days.

John stopped resisting, his body melting away under Henrik’s hands, his words turning to whimpers. He let himself be manoeuvred down, his hands coming naturally to Henrik’s belt buckle, unwrapping him from his clothes. Henrik hissed as John pressed his tongue to Henrik’s cock. This was easier. Not seeing Henrik’s face, kneeling on the floor and offering a service was easier than the reciprocation of kisses and touches and sex.

***

Henrik had never been easy. Not in the callous sense - seducing Henrik had almost always ended with John alone in his bed, desperately fucking his own hand, trying to pretend Henrik was watching him with heavy eyes. But when the seduction was made he was no easier. John had come to understand that Henrik was scared of himself, of his desires, of the way he liked to have John, squirming and trapped under him. Even now his hands gripped John’s hair so tight that there were tears in his eyes and his face was red.

John must have given some sign of weakness because Henrik pulled back sharply, sending him into a fit of coughs and splutters.

‘What did you do that for,’ John asked through strained breaths.

‘You weren’t enjoying it.’

As though that mattered. As though John deserved to enjoy this, or anything. He had wanted to be of use to Henrik, to serve him, make him forget his pain. Henrik would never inflict himself upon anyone else, so John had wanted to take this for him, but it was more than that. This was more than a simple service. John enjoyed Henrik’s passions as much as Henrik did, and his reply was unplanned and raw.

‘I’ll always be here for you, Henrik. However you want me.’

Henrik looked down at him, assessing him. John just shivered and obediently opened his mouth again.

***

Henrik was so rough and eager that John found it hard to keep himself in position under him. He tried to steady his hips, but Henrik’s next thrust pushed him further up the bed. Henrik growled in frustration and hauled him down again with one strong movement.

Running soothing hands up and down Henrik’s back, John struggled up, looking around for something to keep him grounded. How he managed to communicate to Henrik that he should be tied down was unclear, but Henrik got the idea quickly and had John’s feet bound to the metal frame at the end of the bed in moments. He had used both of their ties for it, and seemed disappointed that there was nothing left to restrain John’s arms. Understanding this, John lay back obligingly and crossed his wrists above his head, letting Henrik push down on them with one hand as he ensured John was still ready to take him inside with the other.

The line between service and pleasure was blurred out of existence, and John had to fight against the sensations to keep a clear head. This was for Henrik. He was an empty vessel for Henrik’s use. 

John stopped being able to convince himself of that sometime between Henrik tying him up and setting his teeth to John’s neck to urge his blood to the surface.

***

Henrik was kissing him slowly, behind his ear and down the back of his neck. John curled into himself, foetal, cradling the heavy darkness in his belly. Pleasing Henrik had done nothing to blunt the gnawing teeth of guilt. Knowing that Henrik would one day discover he had slept with a murderer, a liar, had been inside the man who killed the love of his life - that added fangs and claws to the guilt.

John saw Henrik. He saw Roxanna, saw himself. The three of them conjoined, a writhing snakey hydra. He had removed one head and could feel it sprouting consequences, guilt, trauma. No, that metaphor was all wrong. Nothing would grow from this. Cut out the disease to cure the body. What’s left of the body. He closed his eyes. He had cut out the wrong part. Henrik shifted in his sleep, closer, his arm laid protectively around John’s waist. Cut out the disease, but when Henrik was all that was left, was that enough of the body?

The moon was bone white through the open curtains, casting Henrik’s face into ghoulish shadows. John wanted to kiss those sharp cheekbones until they made his mouth bleed, to feel those fine, slender hands hold him down, push apart his legs, open him up and twist inside him, wrap around his neck and choke out the disease. He wanted to kill himself with Henrik’s body. He didn’t deserve that. Burning rope on his neck, a sharp incision. An icy weight of water if he dared imitate Henrik. Henrik would understand. He knew what had to be done to a body that was poisoning itself. John had got it wrong, as always, wrong diagnosis, wrong surgical intervention, wrong results. This time he would fix it, cure Henrik of the illness that was John and his cancerous obsession.

Henrik pushed closer again, half awake, lead by the physical impulse to touch the warmth beside him, and John wasn’t as strong as he should be. He curled into the slow stroking of Henrik’s hands, turning to face him, kissing him. The diagnosis had been made, and tomorrow he would prepare for the surgery, gather his equipment. Tonight he soaked in the illness, let the poison seep from his mouth into Henrik’s. Tomorrow he would find the cure.


End file.
